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I know what you’re thinking. My imagination is ridiculous, I’m overly-dramatic and prone to campfire-style tales likely to scare no one but myself. I’m not saying you’re wrong-I’m just saying that last summer a demon in a floral print sundress followed me.

Ok, not in total abundance, more like a two-sighting occurance.

But still.

It started when I went out to lunch with my cousin Molly. We went to a Mexican restaurant to catch up over chips, salsa, and burritos. Things were going fine until I left to find the bathroom.

The restaurant is located inside a near-vacant strip mall. In fact, I think the only thing in the mall is the bathroom, and the lone bench sitting next to the door of said rest-stop.

I started towards the bathroom, when her eyes locked with mine and I knew something was off. Mostly because she was creepily chewing on a Nilla Wafer while fiercely maintaining eye contact.

Demon fuel. Dude.

Holding it to her mouth, she nibbled away on the treat while never looking away as I worked my way towards the door. The torn box sat on her lap, eagerly providing her with cookies while she sat with no apparent purpose other than to stare.

Let me point out how weird it is to be eating Nilla wafers this close to a Mexican restaurant. I can’t pinpoint the exact reason, except that the sweet cookies are most likely mass-produced from the tears of children. Enchiladas on the other hand, come from a happy place filled with sombreros, ponchos, and laughter. Given the two options, obviously a demon would choose the cookie.

That was my evidence of her being a demon by the way. Cookies next to restaurant + creepy eye contact + sundress=demon.

Since I am brave, I just decided to pretend that I hadn’t noticed our eye contact and went to the bathroom. On my way out she had upped the creep-factor. Now sitting so that her body faced the bathroom door-whereas on my way in-she was facing the Mexican restaurant-she continued gnawing away on the tears of children.

Obviously, I hurried back to my burrito. I tried to act casually, but knowing me-the glancing over my shoulder definitely gave away my fear. Not that it matters, demons can smell that stuff a mile away.

After we finished eating, Molly had to go to the bathroom. I said I’d wait for her outside. Happy to discover that the woman had left, I sat down on the bench while awaiting my cousin, breathed a sigh of relief, and was just convincing myself that my imagination needs a make-over when I looked out the strip mall door and saw:

Demon woman standing outside glass door, about an inch away from the glass, still munching away on the Nilla Wafer, and again-holding eye contact.

Needless to say, this was not a highlight of my afternoon.

Regardless, I sighed relief when Molly emerged from the bathroom, and we got into her car and left the scene of what I’m sure was about to become a Satanic-epicenter of evil. Who knew such things could happen outside the Happy Taco.

Skip ahead two weeks later, when I flew to Madison, WI to be in my best-friend’s wedding. On the morning of the big day the bride-to-be and I stopped in a pharmacy for some things before getting ourselves ready.

We were waiting to pay for our items, when suddenly, P.J.(bride) noticed that the woman in front of us was acting a bit-odd. I didn’t notice because I was too busy debating the pros and cons of eating skittles before squeezing into a bridesmaid dress.

Zilla bridesmaid fuel. Sweet.

Regardless, the woman left the shop before P.J. had a chance to comment. On the way out of the pharmacy, the woman-who I then spotted just outside the door, was a blonde in a sundress, creepily holding eye contact with me.

Even though she wasn’t identical to my Mexican restaurant demon, she had those same eyes, and this time she got worse.

This time she walked up to me, got way too close to my neck and whispered:

“Stop doing that. It’s hurting me”

She then proceeded to hold eye contact with me while backing away down the sidewalk.

So if you happen to see her lurking in the cookie aisle of your local grocery store, be careful. I clearly didn’t receive her message and I’m sure she’s just waiting for the right person to receive her Nilla-wafer whispers.

As for me, I’ll be in the Mexican restaurant. Look for the girl hiding under the sombrero.